


Doppelganger Syndrome

by thecastortwin



Series: Doppelganger Syndrome [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Clones, Coming of Age, Doppelganger, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Made For Each Other, Older Man/Younger Man, Smut, Sort Of, Urban Fantasy, other selves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-14 07:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecastortwin/pseuds/thecastortwin
Summary: Dean Ambrose has a strange affliction. He's kept it secret all these years, and he's done a pretty good job at keeping the sickness at bay for quite a while now......Until he meets Roman Reigns.





	1. You're Too Nice to Me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting leads to something more.

No amount of love and support from this strong, towering powerhouse of a man could prepare me for the battles I would come to face.

Friday night at my favorite bar Today + Future turned into something of a fever dream. My best friend Seth Rollins had rented the tiny underground California establishment as a venue to launch the newest collection of his homegrown streetwear brand, Kingslayer. The bar was teeming with every imaginable hipster possible, plus every basic white bimbo within a 4 mile radius trying to appear more cultured and edgy than they ever can hope to be. What a way to desecrate my sacred space.

That didn’t matter. I’d been single for over two years now, and had not been properly fucked in three months. horny was an understatement; I was prepared to spread my legs for anything with a dick and a pulse. And that sounded funny for two seconds until Seth and our bartender Tyler Breeze had to pull a drunken me away from mister Tony Cesaro, the - happily married - owner of Today + Future. This drunk, horny, and desperately single Dean Ambrose might have had to give up that night.

“Dean,” Seth panted, after he and Tyler had successfully dragged me into a darker, safer corner of the bar. “You know you could have avoided this if you’d let me hook you up with somebody.” Seth sighed, and Tyler side-eyed him as he set a glass of water in front of me, shoving it in my direction in a silent demand for me to drink and sober up. “It’s... it’s been two years, Dean. And I know there’s no deadline on when you’re supposed to move on with your life,but...”

“I told you, Seth,” a bit of a slur evident in my speech. Fuck. Maybe I did have too many shots. “Baron’s hot, but he just... he doesn’t do it for me.” I snorted obnoxiously, not a care in the world for anyone else at the bar. “Lemme deal with my shit the way only I can. I know better than anyone else what I want and need,” I looked fake-longingly in the direction of Mr. Cesaro, who still glancing in our direction every now and then with concern, if not - what i hope was - for me, then at least for Seth, whose duties as host of this event were now being put aside to care for my messy inebriated ass. “And what I need is a strong, handsome older man to take care of me—“ A swift, snappy backhand from Tyler across my face interrupted me. “You need a tall, cold glass of water to cool your thirsty bussy.” I laughed a dry, liquor-fueled laugh that ended with a sob.

Seth sighed, checked the time on his shiny silver new watch (designer, because now he could actually afford it) and crossed his arms. “Ty, I need you to take care of him. Do you mind? He’s clearly too drunk to function.” He got an eyeroll in reply. “Too gay to function too, as it is. Go back to your clients. Mr. Tony is waiting for you. And yes, I will take care of him. Deputy Dango is here tonight and I don’t need Lunacy and Thirst” - a strong head jerk in my direction - “stealing my mans from me tonight.” Seth flashed him two thumbs up and mouthed a thank you before heading away.

“As for you,” Tyler seethed at me. “You need to sober the fuck up. If you dry heave on my bar I will ban your ass from ever coming back here.” I groaned. Loudly. “Lighten up, Breeze. You talk ‘s if this is the worst you’ve dealt with me as a customer.” I downed three gulps of water. It felt like hard, goopy sludge going down my numbed and sandpaper mouth. Bleh.

“Maybe not. But you’ve never thrown yourself at my boss, or potentially ruined a business opportunity for your friend,” Tyler hissed. He went back to running used glassware through the sink. Alright fine, he was right. He got me there. “Look, I promise I’m not as drunk as I seem anymore, Ty. The shock of knowing whose dick I offered to suck was partly sobering. I’m not entirely without shame,” I drawled. I got past half my water before Tyler snatched my glass and refilled it to the brim. “Good. Prove that to me. Stay here and be a good boy. No chasing after other hot guys on the dancefloor, okay?”

My thoughts and visions were slowly becoming more clear. And with that, my sense of how hopeless the end of my night would be. I figured I’d just end up going home alone again tonight; I’d humiliated myself enough for the evening. I nodded a silent yes to Tyler and absentmindedly watched him mix a few cocktails for a new set of customers. I finished my glass of water.

I decided not to pay attention to the man who sat next to me at the bar. It ticked me off slightly, how he picked the seat next to me, of all available places to sit. But from the corner of my eye I saw his knees face slightly toward my direction as he tried to start conversation.

“Rough night?” he asked.

He had a soft, but deep, gravelly voice. Something I tried not to pay attention to, seeing as I was 1) told to behave myself for the rest of the night, and 2) pretty damn sure I had no luck left bringing any man home with me tonight. I kept my eyes hooded and low at my glass of water, drops of moisture forming on the surface and rolling down. “Kinda,” I said dismissively.

“If I order you a drink, can I get you to tell me about your night?” the man asked. How sincere. Almost as if I couldn’t even hear the ulterior motive beneath the question. It ticked me off even more. “Look, pal, I think you should mi—“ I turned to stand and face the man and indignantly tell him off, but I failed to account for how the way he looked would stop me in my tracks.

The man was tall. Maybe a good five inches taller than me, but with him sitting at the bar, I couldn’t tell for sure. He was maybe in his late 30’s, and looked like a wealthy, established member of the workforce, something my mother wishes I could be at the jaded young age of 24 (Sorry I’m instead a starved performance artist, Mom). He wore gold rimmed glasses with small, rectangular frames that sat low on the bridge of his very strong, prominent nose. Low enough that I could see he had big, brown deepset eyes. Piercing somehow, maybe in his strange mix of apprehension at my attempted outburst, and concern for me and my reaction. He had long, striking jet black hair tied in a loose messy bun at the crown of his head, and a rough, orchestratedly messy five o-clock shadow framing his firm jawline. His muscles. Wow. He had on a tight white t-shirt that hugged his large, formed pecs and bulging biceps, and suspenders hanging from his thick, broad shoulders. His tattoo, an intricate maze of culture - polynesian, maybe? - that snaked its way from his right wrist all the way up into his shirt sleeve. There was more of the tattoo maybe on his chest? some of the ink peeked up the right corner of his v-neck collar, and I could vaguely see more outline from under the thin, less-than-opaque fabric of his shirt.

I wanted to see more of it.

(Of him.)

“Hey! Heyy. Look, I’m sorry if I bothered you man, I just wanted to talk,” His eyes were wide at my (admittedly) rude reaction, and I swear in that moment I had never eaten my words faster.

“N-No! Dude, ‘m sorry, It’s just. Agh, fuck. I’m hopeless,” I stammered, eventually giving up on explaining myself. Too late. I had humiliated myself. Again. A hand propped on my shoulder however, gently pushed me back into my seat, and I was left staring up at this man like a guilty, reprimanded puppy. “It’s alright,” He smiled. A soft smile, pearly white teeth and a few small crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Fuck. He’s cute. And nice. What the fuck.

“I’m Roman,” he said softly, and held out his right hand - the tattooed one - for a handshake. “Dean,” I replied softly, nervously taking his hand and shaking it. I was trembling. Why was I trembling? He’s not the hottest guy I’ve ever talked to. Okay no. Not true. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever talked to.

“I’m—I’m sorry about earlier. Just—“ I began, as Roman chuckled, taking a sip of his drink (green apple soju on the rocks, interesting choice) and brushing it off. “You’re fine, Dean. Just... Tell me about yourself.” He smiled again. He has to stop doing that. It’s too entirely disarming.

I took a deep breathe and sighed. Calm down, Dean. This is nothing. “I’ve... Did you just arrive? ‘ve been here since 7, I helped out with my best friend’s little gig here...” I went on to explain to Roman how 7 shots of tequila and drinking IPA’s as a chaser led to me making a fool of myself to the bar owner. Roman was sympathetic as a listener, all the while chuckling and laughing at my story, maybe how animated I tend be when I tell stories? He was nice. I almost wanna say too nice.

“...That’s why I’m here, being a good boy while Tyler and Seth go about their business,” I look in Tyler’s direction, where he’s serving a tall, svelte older gentleman in what looked like a stripper cop costume - so that’s Deputy Dango! - a long island iced tea. I continue, “I’m trying to sober up because I don’t wanna mess things up anymore for my best friend, and—“

“That’s why you didn’t wanna take a drink from me,” Roman finished. He had a small grin on his face and a warm look in his eyes. “Y-yeah,” I replied. “Sorry about that. I... I enjoyed this conversation though,” I’m stammering again, now that my story’s over I’m not really sure what to say.

Roman polished his glass of soju and set it down on the table with a satisfied grunt. “Well, Dean. I’m not gonna lie. The reason I wanted to get you a drink was because I was looking for good conversation that would hopefully allow us to... play,” He looked me in the eye and winked. I squirm a little and silently will my dick to have more self-control. “But,” Roman leans in a little closer to me, a more delicate, sincere look on his face this time. “I also don’t wanna be the guy who forces you to disobey his... best friend and his bartender.” he breathed a small laugh at how strange that sounded, a laugh that I returned. “So how’s about this: We get out of here, and without any sort of alcohol or vice involved, show you a really good time?”

“Nice try, Roman,” I sneer, unimpressed with the offer. “Did you miss the part where I was sobering up? Should’a caught me earlier when I was throwing myself at everything in this bar that looked like it could have a Y chromosome. Could’a gotten lucky there.”

A smile peeks at the corner of Roman’s mouth, and he looks down. “You’re fun to talk to, Dean. I think you’re cool. And while crawling into bed with you tonight sounds fucking awesome, I really do wanna get to know you a little.” He removes his glasses to look me directly in the eye and suddenly the room is 300 degrees hotter. This man is either sincere as fuck or knows he’s fucking hot and knows how to get what he wants.

Or both.

I think it’s both.

“Fine. Let’s make this a challenge,” I shrug, trying to hide my otherwise obvious blushing at the forwardness of this attractive man’s advances. “I’m tired from the alcohol and just how crowded my favorite bar is right now. If you can bring me somewhere fuckin’ amazing,” I pause, and Roman looks up at me with his head still down. God, he’s doing this on fucking purpose, he knows he’s attractive. I continue. “...And show me a helluva good time without any alcohol or vices involved, as you said,” I point my finger to him, and a smile slowly forms on his face. “Then you can come home with me.”

Roman’s face lit up and that was so far the best thing to happen tonight. After introducing him to Tyler and Seth and assuring them both I was sober and stable, I steeled myself for whatever garishly loud or eclectic place he would bring me. Whatever place I imagined this handsome, dapper, working older gentleman would go to have fun. It honestly kind of scared me to picture where he’d bring me at 11:53pm on a Friday, like some really classy black-tie restaurant with a jazz band playing in the background, or some VIP executive event that Seth would sacrifice chickens to be a part of. It made me nervous just how I was entrusting myself to this man I barely knew, only that he seemed very accommodating and remotely interested in me for something other than sex. Maybe that was what I was scared of, that he was invested in me and not just how far I could take him down my throat. Nevertheless, we took off and I swallowed my anxiety, wondering the entire 35-minute drive where the hell he might bring me.

He brought me to a secluded corner of some beach.

Completely unexpected. I... honestly didn’t really know how to feel.

“A beach, huh?” I laughed, nervousness hiding somewhere discreetly underneath. “Is your personality and charisma supposed to make up for the lack of ‘amazing’ this place is?” Roman smirks, and smothers me in a towel. “Hey!” I cry, slightly alarmed. “Chill, Dean. Take off your sneakers.”

Roman kicked off his suede chelsea boots and walked onto the cold, damp sand. He spread two towels fifteen feet away from the shore and extended his arm to me in invitation.

I gingerly kicked off my scuffed superstars and let the cold, soft sand soothe some of the stress of earlier out of my feet. I padded onto the towels where roman sat, arm extended in invitation. I took his hand- soft, with traces of roughness, from hard manual work, probably at the gym - and he gently led me to sit, legs folded, in between his thighs. A potentially suggestive position, yet with this man it felt completely safe and comfortable. I couldn’t really even tell anymore what his angle was anymore: back in Future, he had explicitly stated he wanted to hook up with me. But this is also an awful lot of trouble just for someone to get in my pants. And I’m pretty much game for anything, if I’m in the mood, it doesn’t take much to get me on my knees. This... this was unprecedented territory.

It felt like... a first date. A proper one, not the pathetic attempts at first dates I would get from hot douchebags who would pretend to be polite if it meant me getting on my knees for them.

As he safely and securely rested his palms on my hips, he gently rested his chin on my shoulder and just listened to me talk. We sat at the foot of the shore for a good hour and forty-five minutes talking about my work as an artist. I told him my favorite work was this pair of chairs I had attached wing structures to that anyone could sit in and feel like they were part of the piece. I opened up to him about my frustrations with people in that the pieces I loved and enjoyed making the most were the most under-appreciated, and the art I made that was more detached from me was better received by others. He nodded in agreement as I told him about how I generally hate people and that my dislike for people’s noise is what makes me distant from people and public places. Roman sat through all my ranting and patiently listened, a soft chuckle and the occasional breath at laughter at the way I would describe my work or the way I would describe people I hate.

It took me a while to realize I spent too much time talking to myself, and in turn I forced hi to tell me about his work as a fitness trainer - because he clearly couldn’t get anymore hot - and the people he deals with on a daily basis because of it. He empathized with my difficulty in dealing with people and how that plays into his job, especially when it’s a job that requires he market himself and socially immerse himself with other people on a daily basis. He expressed his frustrations with clients who pay him big money, give him half-assed effort and expect a-plus results, but also lived for the satisfaction it brought him to help serious clients who turn their lives around with his help. It was clear to see not only how he gained his charisma, but also how much he loved his work and how devoted he was to his job and it was so interesting to just listen to him talk. How he’d be almost as animated in the way he talked, but limiting his speech to onomatopoeic terms instead of wild, flailing hand gestures like mine. How he’d whisper a little when he’d mention something funny, the smile evident in his voice and a twinkle in his eye so bright I could see it from my peripheral vision. It was so easy to get lost in this man I almost didn’t notice—

“Oh fuck, Dean. It’s 4am.”

My heart sank a little. It all felt like it was ending all too abruptly. For all that I was sober for the past three or so hours, this felt like the most disruptive, shaking-me-out-of-my-daze type of sobering up. Was that how much I was enjoying Roman’s company? Or was I just enjoying what it felt like to be in this close physical and emotional proximity with someone without the promise of dirty, self-serving sex?

Roman had a client he needed to attend to in a few hours, so he needed to make ample use of the time he had left to rest. The beach he brought us to was only twenty minutes away from my apartment, and it was the shortest twenty minutes that I had ever felt slipping away from me, despite my greatest wishes to be blessed with more time with this man. Alas, we stood outside my front door, Roman biding his time before he had to drive the hour and a half back to... wherever he was from.

God, for all that time we spent talking, there was still so much I wanted to know about him.

“I, uh... I enjoyed myself a lot, tonight,” I tried meekly. This goodbye felt awkward as all hell, mostly because I didn’t wanna say goodbye just yet. Also because it felt like the really cheesy end of some abused teen movie trope. How appropriate. Roman just smiled softly. Oh look, the cheekbones again.

“I’m really glad you did, Dean. Can we... do this again soon?” he stepped a little closer to me, the toes of his shoes maybe two inches away from mine. I pulled the best smirk I could manage, so as not to fall prey to the overwhelmingly rush of romantic tension that slowly, steadily overcame me. I didn’t want him to see me blushing (even if he probably already could see, Goddammit Dean), so I replied, “Only if you give me a hug.”

Roman grinned even wider, and warmer, opening his arms and softly saying “bring ‘er in.” I closed the spaced between us, right arm hooking over roman’s left shoulder and neck while my left tentatively secured itself to Roman’s back. I buried my face in his chest and silently reveled in his body warmth, the cottony-soft smoothness of his white v-neck contrasting the firm, muscular torso beneath the fabric. I inhaled deeply, smelling him properly for the first time that night - the faint smell of pineapple car freshener mixed with the general cooling scent of air conditioning - and without thinking whispered “Stay the night with me.”

Roman pulled away to look me in the eye, cautious, wondering if he heard me correctly. “I... I’d love to, Dean. But I need to prepare for my client first thing when I wake up tomorrow—“ “You’re set for 11 in the morning, right?” I interrupted, I little frantic. “I can wake you up earlier so you don’t meet the morning traffic; you get to prepare for your client maybe two hours before you see them—“ I was sputtering, no longer caring for how desperate I sounded. I didn’t wanna let Roman go just yet. This whole night felt too good to end so soon. I couldn’t really tell anymore if I wanted Roman and his company, or just missed the feeling of being this emotionally intimate with someone. Call it selfish, but I just didn’t want it to end yet.

“I... I don’t wanna inconvenience you,” Roman said softly. He moved his right hand up my neck and stroked his thumb under my ear. “You won the challenge, though...” I whispered back. “I had a really good time with you. No drugs, no alcohol, no vices involved... The reward was you get to come home with me, wasn’t it?” I whispered softly against his lips. Roman touched his forehead to mine, locking his chocolate brown eyes onto my hooded gaze, the tip of his nose ghosting against mine. “Baby boy... if I stay the night, neither of us are gonna get any sleep,” Roman growled softly, voice dipping into lower registers and breath wisping over my lips. Baby boy. My knees got weak.

“I’m young,” I whispered back. “I can catch up on sleep whenever.”

Roman sealed his lips over mine and I collapsed into his arms, surrendering whatever control I had left to him. He moved his lips pliantly against mine, a soft nibble on my bottom lip every now and then. His hands pulled me closer and continued to roman up and down my sides, building friction and warmth between us that made the early morning cold seem ten times hotter. i dug my blunt nails into his back and pulled him in further, as if our bodies rubbing against each other wasn’t close enough to satiate my need for him. It wasn’t. I needed more. Much more.

Roman was surprisingly gentle. He was commanding, by all means, but in no way was he inconsiderate. He firmly maneuvered my arms so they wrapped around his shoulders and he closed his forearms around my waist, slowly lifting me up and on instinct I secured my legs around his torso, heels settling above his glutes so as to gain some semblance of balance as I cling to him. Roman then settles my back against the door, leans his weight into me and continues to ravage my mouth.

We continue our intense, excited bodily conversation; small grunts, moans and pants filling the air in between us as Roman alternates between exploring my mouth with his tongue and letting me explore his in return. I begin to rut my body and hips against his, desperate to build more of the delicious friction between us as we kissed slowly, firmly, passionately. Sweat begins to bead on our foreheads as I feel myself getting harder and harder, and when the older man feels my erection poking into his lower belly, he shifts to lower my groin against his own bulge, and groans as he begins to grind his concealed arousal against mine.

Roman continues to thrust against me, letting go of our intense kiss in favor of sticking his forehead against mine once more, focusing slowly on building the tension in our nether regions. I open my eyes for the first time since he’s kissed me, and I’m blessed with the sight of this built older gentleman staring, eyes dilated, straight into my soul. His glasses, slowly falling askew down his nose, are now fogged beyond visibility, and his hot panting continues to fill the empty spaces of sound between my occasional moan and whine. He smiles, a little hint of devil mixed in with his obvious conveying his enjoyment.

I return the smile with my own before he whispers, “upstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

He sets me down on my feet, numb slightly from having clung so tightly to Roman’s torso for stability. I buckle slightly, and I’m caught in in the strong arms of this fitness trainer, helping me regain balance so I can properly slide my key into my front door. The door is barely closed yet Roman has picked me up once more, snaking his thick arms around from behind me and attacking my nape and shoulders with kisses. I yelp as he turns me around and lifts me by my ass, my arms and legs once more instinctively clinging to his large, muscular frame for dear life. I’m trapped in his arms with no escape, no means resistance against the attack of hot, rough and deep kisses from this stallion of a man, whose gentle, pliant maneuvering of ours bodies was slowly giving way to a more dominant, aggressive manhandling that was both exciting and... terrifying.

“So good for me,” he whispers into my ear, a shiver running down my spine and goosebumps running through my arms, my body on fire from the onslaught of sensual contact and the impossibly close proximity of ours bodies. Deep down my body was aware that this man’s tactility and attentiveness were all very foreign sensations. He releases my weight so I land softly on the bed, and looms mightily over me, wasting no time with his body apart from mine. “So good... So soft, so rough and hardened by the world, yet so vulnerable,” he continued to kiss the words onto my skin, velvety rich and full lips warm and wet on my neck, chest, nipples, navel, and soon, my hips. The warmth of Roman’s body cascades and envelopes me in such intense waves that I barely even realize he’s slipped my pants off, locked his elbows behind my knees and laid hundreds of nips, kisses, and licks around my dick and balls.

“Ngh...” I grunt breathlessly, all forms of words escaping me. “Tell me how good it feels, Dean. I wanna hear you,” He murmurs into my skin, my mind barely able to register his command. The most I can muster is a choked gasp followed by “please...” before I feel the warm wet slick heat of his mouth swallow my 6 inches whole. My back jerks what felt like at least a foot off my bed, a strangled, high-pitched cry escaping my mouth as he slowly, harshly deepthroats my penis. his mouth slides up my shifts and the familiar tickle of his tongue and lips moving friskily against the head of my dick has me on the verge of a seizure. I venture a hooded glance down at his face and his eyes are on me, pupils looking like saucers burning with intense lust. Too intense. Too much to handle. I close my eyes, scared of him seeing how truly vulnerable I am in that moment, but he manages to coax a long, falsetto, half-laugh-half-whine out of me by running the head of my dick up and down his beard. Too much. Waaaaay too fucking much.

The pleasure I was feeling at the strong, gentle hands of this man was so beyond me, it was absolutely terrifying. It had been so long since I last hooked up with anybody, I had forgotten what good sex felt like. Suddenly I have this man doing things to me I’d never experienced once in my many sexual encounters; terrified is an understatement. Petrified, paralyzed... The sensations were all too much to bear, and it wasn’t until he had turned me around face down on the bed and aligned his bare cock against my ass crack that it all felt too violating, too invading. Too much intimacy, too much love, and too much pleasure; too much way too soon. I manage to bark a loud, alarming “Stop!” Before Roman releases me from his body weight and I crawl to the head of my bed, leaning on the frame for stability, wrapping my arms around myself in a protective manner. From my peripheral I see Roman, eyes wide in concern, cautiously approaching me. He reaches out, but when I squeeze my eyes shut, I instead feel a dip in the mattress and a whispered “Did I... Did I go too far? Dean, I’m sorry...” He slips his hand along my sheets, eager to give me a comforting touch, but now clearly second guessing whether any physical contact was safe. Fuck, how considerate did this man have to be? He was so disarming, so charming, so unfair.

“Dean, if you’re not comfortable, I-I can go—“ He begins, to which I instantly object “No! You don’t— Just—please don’t go...” He moves in closer, wraps his arms around me and apologizes once more. “You don’t have to tell me now,” He whispers into my temple, “But I do think there’s a story behind this, and in that case, I want you to know I’ll listen if you need me to,” Roman kisses my temple once more, and I feel myself weeping. He shifts positions to face me, and with his hands on my shoulders, he looks me in the eyes and asks “What now?”

It’s a little awkward, crying in the middle of my bed naked with another man as he assures me that my safety and comfort is his priority; but the effort is so hard to not appreciate. I sniffle, wipe my eyes, and take everything into consideration. I insisted that he stay, so it would be rude to send him home now... No, fuck. I want him to stay. But he’s also right, my story with AJ was also... something I would have to share with somebody one day; keeping the secret all to myself was a weight that would one day kill me.

I... I wanted him to stay. I wanted his skin on me, I wanted sex with him, I wanted his arms around me, I wanted to fall asleep this particular night feeling once again like I was loved and in a relationship and worth it. So I told him, “I... I want you to stay. I’m not ready to give that much of m’self yet though... But i can help you finish o—“

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, ssshhh,” Roman interjects, a finger over my lips and moving in closer to put my face against his chest, hands rubbing circles in my back and petting my hair. “That’s not important. I don’t need that.” He cradles my face in his hands once more, thumbs wiping whatever tears I had left running down my eyes. “You need someone to hold when you sleep tonight, you’ve got it.” He winks at me, a warm smile and a soft peck on my lips. There he is, that overly-considerate gentleman I met at Today + Future a few hours ago.

“...But I do wanna get off though,” I persisted, blushing. I didn’t know if this would be my first and last time seeing Roman—I prayed to almighty Heaven it wouldn’t— but just in case it was, I wanted to at least end it well for the both of us. I initiated a kiss for the first time tonight, pulling him back down on top of me as he pushed his hands to cradle my shoulder blades. The kisses went back to being soft, pliant, and gentle, and this time every breath we took in between kisses we looked each other in the eyes and smiled.

“I have an idea,” Roman offered.

He rose up off the bed, motioning for me to lie face up in the center of the mattress, arms at my sides, before throwing his leg over my thighs and straddling me once more. He leaned forward framed my head in his arms, his face a mere two or so inches away from mine once again. “...Hey there,” he whispered, a slight cheekiness to the grin on his face. It lightened the mood significantly. “Hey yourself,” I replied.

He lowered his body weight slowly on top of me so i could wrap my arms around his back. As his hard muscular body sank into me, I felt his erection slot comfortably against mine, our shafts rubbing against each other, the overwhelming sensations from earlier coming back, this time without the terror. We rubbed the tips of our noses together, exchanging more smiles, kisses, and the occasional giggle as we reveled in the amazing warmth of skin to skin mixed with the ecstatic buildup of our earlier sexual tension. Sweat started to form once more on Roman’s brow when I gently pushed him off me. “Lube, in the second drawer on my bedside.” A little perplexed, he pulled my drawer, retrieved the bottle and handed it to me, and I squeezed a liberal amount and spread it like butter on my dick, balls, perineum, and other surrounding areas. i squeezed another handful onto my left hand and smeared the cold viscosity on Roman’s hard — 7 inches. of course. — length. “There we go,” I whispered. “Where were we?”

Roman settles back down on top of me, the cold slick lube warming up to our shared body heat in no time, and the soft, minimal movements of our dry-humping turned into more impassioned, intentional (if frantic) thrusts against each other. The sounds of skin rubbing against skin and the occasional licking sounds of slick lube forming hot symphonies with our grunts, moans, and light chuckles playing lead. When my balls started to tighten, Roman’s thrusts became more urgent, and the familiar buildup of deliciously intense pressure around the tip of my shaft was getting harder and harder to contain.

“Roman... I’m gonna come.”

Roman buried his face in my neck, and with a growl whispered in his lowest voice, “Let go, baby. I’m close. I wanna feel you. You feel so good. Do I make you feel good? Show me how good it feels...” His thrusts and the pressure steadily grew more rough and frantic and my moans turned into short breathed panting and whining and before I could scream “Roman, I’m coming!” His mouth clamped on mine, and we screamed into each others’ mouths, eyes screwed shut, choked cries pouring into each others’ throats as we came all over each other, come and slick lube mixing together like some sloppy paint spill all over our stomachs and chests. Sweat beads ran up and down our arms as we shared one last deep and frantic kiss, Roman pulling off me with a small strand of saliva the last thing connecting our mouths together that night. We smiled at each other, faces flushed beyond belief and laughing, foreheads pushed together and sharing welcoming, embracing warmth once more before he finally rolled off me. I feel strong arms wrap around my waist and more kisses pressed into my nape before I even realize I’ve drifted off to sleep.

“...ean.”

“...ake yet...?”

“...Dean.”

I stir, the soft rumble of Roman’s voice murmuring my name into my temple. Mornings in my room are usually particularly cold; this particular day had me burying my face in this fitness trainer’s chest, my arms wrapped around a stacked torso with a little extra. Off-season, maybe? Not that I’m complaining. I like my men with a little extra fluff. The embrace i was wrapped in was a little too comfortable, albeit restrictive.

I sighed into his chest, breathing in the natural scent of this man. The temptation to doze off once more was almost irresistible, until I snapped my eyes open and asked, “What time is it?”

“10:45.”

I jump. “Weren’t you set for 11?? You’re late—“

“Sshhh.” Roman pulled me back immediately into his arms and buried my face in his chest once more. It all seemed... urgent. “I couldn’t leave. I rescheduled.”  
I grew cautious, uncertain. But I also couldn’t deny the twinge in my chest, the small swell of my heart at hearing Roman didn’t wanna leave.

“Dean,” Roman began.

“...Yeah?” I whispered back.

“Would you say you’re a good person?”

“Not... particularly.”

“Have you ever hurt anybody?”

“Uhm... Not intentionally, I don’t think?”

“So you have?”

“I... I take that back. I have. Not... Not my proudest moment.”

“Have you ever been traumatized?”

“...Yes?”

“Has anybody ever tried to hurt you?”

I ached a little inside. “...Yeah.”

Roman’s arms wrapped around me a little tighter, his hand cradling my skull against his. “How long did it hurt?”

“I... it took me two years to move forward. Roman, where is this coming fr—“

“Shh,” a soft press of lips to the crown of my head. I felt his legs intertwine with mine. Roman was being... oddly protective. “...Do you live with anyone else?”

“Uh... Seth and I share this apartment, but he most often crashes at his friend Xavier’s art studio. Roman, are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Three loud dull thumps on my bedroom door. When did I close that? I don’t remember that being closed. And who was that knocking on my door like that? Unless...

Oh no.

Oh fuck no.

“Dean, I got up two hours ago to use your bathroom across the hall...” Roman began to explain. I was in there for a while and I initially was to take you up on your offer to stay and leave early to make in time for my client’s training session...”

I felt my head start to spin. Panic attack. Anxiety attack. All the nerves in my body running on 700 miles per hour. Sweat pouring down my arms and forehead, my breaths getting shorter, shallower, more frantic and less controlled. As Roman continued to explain his questions and why he chose to stay with me I was very quickly and steadily realizing what was happening. Not again, I thought. I thought I was over this? Is this a recurring thing?? When will it end???

“...When I was finished, I stepped out of your bathroom and there was someone outside your door, staring at you sleeping.”

Fuck. I spent months of hell dealing with this. I don’t even know what this is! Was I not past it? Was it not just a phase? Am I gonna struggle with this for the rest of my life?

“Dean, the person looked exactly like you.”

I sobbed, my worst fear being confirmed by someone else other than me. By a potential partner too. Not a close friend or a total stranger. Someone I was romantically interested in. What a way to air out your dirty laundry, right?

“He looked exactly like you, Dean. But with white pupils and no speech. I couldn’t leave you alone, I didn’t know what would happen. Dean, what’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading, everybody <3
> 
> This is a concept that's been near and dear to my heart for a long time now. It was inspired by Scott Pilgrim, and I initially had an original story and characters to pursue this concept with, but having pushed it away for too long I figured the best way to bring it back to life would be to turn it into a fic. I hope you enjoy this series, if it turns into something more than this chapter hehe ^^;


	2. They always leave, anyway.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman learns of Dean's past demons--literally.

 

_Chill, Dean._

_Chill._

I heaved, a strained, screeching wretch as my body rebelled against my mind’s appeal for rational thought and reaction. Roman’s grip around my body loosened so he could hold me by the shoulders and look me in the eye. The last thing I wanted in the moment; for him to see me in this state.

_Forget him, Dean. This is the last you’re seeing him._

_For now, you have to deal with_ that thing _outside your door._

“Dean! Dean, please. Talk to me,” Roman pleaded, a sliver of frantic laced in with the show of strength he no doubt tried to hold together for me. He shook my body as if to snap me out of my panic. Those intense brown eyes were locked intensely on to mine once more, determination and vigilance burning in his expression with a bit of confusion and fear leaking through. Not such a coward, this man. Most guys would’ve run off no trace, no mark, no goodbye. 

But he’ll leave. They all do.

“R-Roman. My... My shoulders—“

“O-oh. Sorry...” He breathed. I felt the blood begin to flow through my arms once more as the pressure and tension of Roman’s hands released me. He brought my body up once more upright and held me close once more as he took a tentative glance at my door.

_Thud._   _Thud._

“Dean... Whatever that thing is outsi—“

“Roman, if you want answers, y’ need t’ shut it first. I’ll explain later,” I practically spat. I steeled myself for the worst , rolling my shoulders and shifting from foot to foot as I let my fingers flutter. “For now, I’mma need ya to step aside. At the count of three, open the door.”

There was a sick numb and dull ache in my body. a heavy weight on my neck and shoulders, and the large lump of discomfort in the back of your throat that you feel from trying to hold back tears. I wanted to cry. I knew my night with Roman was too good to be true. There had to be some sick downside to all of the good i was finally sharing with another man, even for just a few hours in a night. It just didn’t occur to me that maybe that downside wouldn’t even have anything to do with him at all.

It was me.

Again. 

There’s something wrong with me. That’s how it always is.

Roman shuffled backwards toward the door, a little reluctance in his step. Caution in his face was directed at the door and what was behind it, then back at me, before he asked, “Dean, I really do—“

“Would you just do it?! Please?” I spat. “One.”

“What’re you gonna do—“

“ _Two,”_ I seethed, teeth grit tightly together.

Roman closed his eyes and breathed a relinquishing breath. He began to turn the knob.

_“Three!”_

I lunged, toes gripping the rough hardwood of my bedroom, and I fly towards the door frame, where my fist hits squarely on the cheek of the demon standing behind my door.

_Hello; it’s me,_  I sing ironically in my head. Because it literally wears my face. And the same clothes i haven’t been able to wear the day that  _thing_  was born; a graphite-colored denim button up, black sweat shorts, and orange socks. A graphic reminder of one of the worst things to ever happen in my life.

I feel a sharp pain in my hand once more; a painful reminder of what it once meant to have to dispose of these demons. This is what I believed it took to stop them from bothering me. Left hook to its right cheek, right elbow swinging directly into its face. Shift to the left foot, and kick; right foot, right smack in the chest, and push as hard as I can. I heard a sick  _thwhackk!!_  as my kick sent the offending double flying four feet in the air away from me.

_“Leeeaa—“_  The  _thing_  uttered, in a low, hoarse whisper that was cut short but a sharp left backhand. Right hook to its left cheek, left knee to bring its face back up, and —sharp breath in— right foot to the chest once more, my... invisible impostor’s body catapulting three feet away and slamming hard onto the wall. A heavy, dull thud echoes through the hall as the body crumples on the ground.

“DEAN!” Roman bellows. I step forward to continue my assault before I feel arms grabbing my torso and lifting me. “Roman?! What’re y— Let go of me!!” I screamed. I surge forward once more, hoping to break free of Roman’s iron hold around my torso. My arms thrash in anger when his hold remains firm. No budge. Damn this man and the hours he spend at the gym.

“Fucking hell, Dean?! No! You’re coming with—“ I feel my weight and center of gravity hoisted up like a sack of potatoes and with a loud “Oof!” my breath escapes me as my core hits Roman’s right shoulder and is right arm is locked beneath my knees.

“ROMAN LET GO OF ME—“ I scream at the top of my lungs, beating my fists against his broad backside, to only a few tiny grunts and growls of discomfort by Roman. The fitness trainer charges with my weight on his shoulder back to my room, grabs as many of the clothes we had on last night, and the last thing I see as he flies down my stairs and out my apartment is the sight of that—that  _thing_ — rising off the floorboards and wiping its face with the back of his fist.

  

Roman had virtually kidnapped me from... myself, I guess (pun not intended). I had spent all of 15 seconds kicking and yelling to be let go but the Samoan giant threw my into his car’s front seat, locked my seatbelt in, and drove from 0 to 60 in a matter of 4 seconds. sat naked in his front seat while he had on a pair of tight crimson compression boxer briefs generously peeping over olive trousers he had barely pulled over his hips in his frenzied attempt to escape from my apartment. He leaned over to my side of the car and from a heap of mostly his other clothes, pulled out my underwear from last night, a standard pair of boxer briefs. They weren’t dirty, but nobody wants to recycle underwear if they don’t have to. “Here,” he said curtly.

I made a face as I gingerly took my underwear from his hand and slid it over my thighs in the front seat, being careful not to lift my waist up too high and have Roman pulled over for... indecent driving? Is that a thing? I rummaged through the rest of the pile and found last night’s grey floral button-up, and one half of my footsocks. Great. I had... one third of an outfit.

“Sorry I could grab anything else,” Roman said, voice low and almost murmuring. He seemed terribly put off, but with some desperate effort to still be polite. It did nothing to hide his curiosity and confusion. But I appreciated his chivalry and tried to play it off. “It’s fine,” I laugh humorlessly. “At least I have a shirt... Or not. Crap.” Only two buttons remained intact from when Roman tore my clothes off the night before. What a way to look back on one of arguably the hottest one night stands ever.

The fitness trainer tried to fight back a grin. He cleared his throat. “There’s a Target next to the CVS we’re headed to. Let me... pay for your new clothes, at least,” Roman offered. There he goes again, being super considerate. “Th-thanks,” I return. I would have liked to turn down his offer and save myself from any further unspoken debt, but I prefer to walk around clothed when I’m not immersed in any of my performance pieces. I was in no position to decline. I changed the subject. “W-why are we headed to a CVS?”

Roman, staring hard at the road ahead, pointed as best he could with his lips toward me. “Your hands. They’re bleeding.” I look down and realize my knuckles and a few of my fingers were bleeding. I didn’t even realize. Looking back, the impact of my fist against his—my— _its_ cheek, it felt... like punching concrete walls. It should hurt, but in the moment, you never really feel it.

We pull up to an empty CVS parking lot, with only three other cars parked in sight, each maybe at least 100 feet away, give or take. Roman gets out of the car, fixes his trousers and pulls on the rest of his clothes. He sets his raven hair free from the confines of his tight bun, retying it secure and gives a curt “hold on a sec,” before opening his car’s trunk and rummaging through his belongings. He knocks on my window and opens my door to hand me what I presume to be his work uniform—a bright red track jacket and pants combo that is 2 sizes too big for me. “Sorry it’s all I can lend you on such short notice,” he apologizes, with me brushing it off and reveling in whatever joy I could get out of wearing his clothes. They were warm from whatever container they were stored in, and smelled fresh. But my drowning in excess fabric made me want to hurry to target just little but more.

I emerge from Target wearing a fresh white T-shirt, their cheapest pair of decent acid wash denim shorts, and a pair of slides. I return Roman’s work uniform to him, to which he guides me to the nearby In-N-Out burger. He sits me down in the furthest table in the corner, and firmly, wordlessly orders me to show him my hands. Big, gentle hands and fingers hold mine, taking care to avoid the cuts and bleeding. After analyzing my injuries, he pulls out an antiseptic and a paper towel, running the doused article over my hands. “Ow,” I murmur, at the sharp sting of antiseptic. “Shh,” Roman whispers back. “I got this.” He wraps my knuckles in thin gauze and medical tape—“i couldn’t find any elastic bandages,” he explains— and gently sets my hands on the table. He pulls out a bag of frozen peas and places it in front of me. “For the swelling, Dean. Stay here, I’ll buy us breakfast.”

When Roman returns to our table with two Double-Doubles, Animal-style fries, and two chocolate milkshakes, I ask him how much I owe him. He merely shakes me off. “Roman, I—I insist. Please let me pay, this time. You’ve done too much already,” He shoves my burger in my mouth with a stern “Eat.” I relent once more, but make a mental note to repay him. I attack my meal, head tilteddown and avoiding the man in front of me who’d been far too generous for anyone to be real.

“If you want, Dean, you can repay me by telling me what the hell that was back in your apartment,” Roman reluctantly asks. I slowly look at up him, sitting my burger back down in the red plastic tray and fiddling with a fry. Roman devours the last bite of his meal, folding the paper packaging neatly and rubbing his finger of crumbs before leaning forward and setting his elbows firmly on the table, attention fixed on me, undivided and unwavering. I sigh a resigned sigh.

“That’s a really, long complicated story, Roman,” I begin. My fingers have returned to twiddling the straw of my half-consumed milkshake. “I’m not sure I’m cool with sharing that story with someone I’m never gonna see again.”

Roman’s face falls and I grimace. “What makes you think I’m dropping you cold turkey?” He asked softly, eyes averted away from whatever I was gonna say. I swallowed. “Most guys leave anyway,” I reply dismissively. I almost choke. I inhale silently and as calmly as possible. I’m not gonna break down in front of this guy. Not now. I am not  _that_  vulnerable and pathetic.

“Have any other guys seen... him?” He asks. I look down.

“...No, actually.” I reply. “Truth be told Roman... You’re the only other person whose seen it. Not even Seth can see it.”

Roman’s expression is pained, but convicted. he reaches forward and reassuringly places his hand on my forearm. “...I don’t know how this all works,” He starts. “but if I’m the only other person who can see... ‘Other De—‘“  _“That’s not me!”_  I burst. Roman is startled, like he tripped an alarm. My lips trembles as I desperately try to ignore the stares of other customers in the restaurant. “Excuse me, sirs, is there a problem?” The restaurant staff calls. “No, Ma’am, nothing to see here. We apologize,” Roman replies, taking control of the situation. He leans closer to me. “He’s not you, Dean. I’m sorry.”

I steady my breaths.  _Chill, Dean. Chill out._

“He’s not you, Dean. But,” Roman paused, care and caution thick in the pause he made to go over what he wanted to say. “...Whatever he is, I seem to be the only other person you can talk to me about this.” Roman sipped from his chocolate milkshake. “Please, Dean. If anything... At least don’t decide for me,” He tucks his fingers underneath my palm. “Don’t decide that I can’t be of any help to you before I’ve even tried.”

The thick lump in the back of my throat is back. I prayed silently that my eyes were nowhere near shiny enough that Roman could see me trying to hold tears back, but the man had already seen enough. Of me; my body, and now my dirty laundry. This motherfucker had a lot of damn patience for someone who had more or less used me and was ready to lose me. Fuck it. I don’t even care anymore.

“...It happened after my ex left me.”

Roman’s eyes perked up, and I swear even his ears almost did.  _Big Dog,_  I thought.  _God, you’re cute. And the last good thing I’ve had in forever. My life sucks._  “His name is Allen. AJ, as most people called him. We were unofficial for... three years.”

Roman’s interest now piqued, as he listened intently and even as I tried as much as possible to not look at him directly as I spoke, I could see every twitch and movement in his face as he reacted to my words. There was a slight eyebrow raise of curiosity as he asked “‘Unofficial?’”

“AJ was in the closet. Deep, deep in the closet. We were friends, and we grew very close to one another,” I began, trying so hard to keep my voice steady and calm.  _Fuck!_  This was worse than therapy. I was not prepared to lay this all out on Roman of all people, not even someone I had paid to listen to my issues. “But he knew I was gay, and he was cool with it. One day he was curious, and I let... let him explore his curiosities on me.”

Roman’s cheek began to twitch, and his fingers began to clench in a fist. Tension? Tension that i had to quell fast before he would misunderstand. “H-He didn’t. He didn’t hurt me, Roman. I promise.” The fitness trainer breathed a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and looking down.

“...At least not back then,” I continued.

Roman’s eyes looked up at me once more. His lips were pursed and his shoulders tensed as he braced himself for what was left of my story.

“He... He was very, very curious,” I recall, pausing every so often to properly look back on the events of my... trainwreck of a relationship. It wasn’t easy, but it’d been two years. I had rationalized everything clearly and I’d like to think I’ve moved on. Well, almost. I’m getting to that. “Curious enough that we had frequent sleepovers. We were best friends, and everything we shared with each other was sacred. He would tell me about his fantasies, his frustrations with his very conservative Christian family, his idea of what the perfect relationship would be...”  _Breathe in slowly, Dean._  Inhale. Exhale. The details were all coming back.

“I fell in love with ‘im. And he did with me too. We got together and we were a thing for three years. I was pretty fuckin’ happy. At least, I thought I was,” Roman diligently nodded at every step of my tragic tale of love and listened intently for every detail he could ask about. My eyes were still fidgeting, looking in every direction but Roman’s. “But for his sake, we had to keep it all secret.”

Roman’s lips formed a small thin line, a line that spelled out the biggest  _I’m sorry I don’t know what to say,_  I had ever read in anybody’s body language. I couldn’t blame him, and I didn’t wanna force him to say anything, so I continued. “I didn’t mind at first, but I eventually got tired of the constant hiding. I loved him so much, and I had thought I had taught him that there was nothing wrong with identifying as gay... But he never could bring himself to accept himself.”

Roman nibbled on his lower lip, struggling for anything to say at all. he gave up and took my hands, pulled out a hanky, and wiped my hands of the moisture of the cold peas. He put the now wet bag of peas away, and pushed our meal trays aside to hold my hands as I prepared myself mentally to share what had happened next. 

“August 27th, 2015. That was the day he broke up with me. He dropped the bomb after we had sex, as one does,” I tried to joke. Roman wasn’t having any of it. He just stared intently at my eyes, and I couldn’t decide whether to be insulted at the amount of pity I could see in his eyes, or just give in and cry at how invested he seemed to be in hearing my story.  _Keep it together, Ambrose._

“He was moving back to his family in Texas, where he apparently had been in talks to marry his childhood friend Charlotte and revive a family business that his parents put up. He explained that he didn’t want to leave me, but he also was in danger of having his parents find out about us and our relationship. He couldn’t handle that.”

I couldn’t look at Roman anymore at this point. The tears weren’t falling yet, surprisingly. But if I was gonna get through this story, I at least had to hold on to some shred of my dignity. I had already lost most of it, I had to keep what little I could to myself.

“So he left.” I said dryly. Roman’s breathing was soft, slow, and his hands still held mine. I continued when he began to stroke his thumbs against the back of my hands. from my peripheral I could tell Roman’s head was also down. Talk about a loss for words.

“The night after he left was the first time  _it_  appeared.”

Roman’s head perked up once more, and he leaned in, locking his eyes onto mine to silently communicate that he was listening. I looked away once more. “I couldn’t sleep that night because every time I was alone in the house I felt like I was being watched. I woke up from a nightmare and that thing was staring at me from the foot of my bed. It’s been there ever since.”

“...What is it?” Roman asked softly, carefully. I breathed in a deep, shaky breath and explained, “I don’t know what they are, but they appear in several different places around the city. Most places are where I’ve experienced some form of mental or social trauma. I know because they’re always dressed in whatever I wore whenever something bad happened.”

Roman remained silent, face expressionless and eyes lost in thought. He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip again. “You brought me to your place knowing it would there?” He asked slowly.

“No! No-nono, I-I—“ I stammered, panicking at the unexpected question. “I-I thought I had... gotten rid of them over a year ago. I didn’t expect it to show up last night.” Roman stayed silent. “I... I don’t know how to get rid of them permanently. That’s why I beat them up. I figure, they’re physically there; they can be removed with physical means. I... I don’t know how else to lose them.”

“Funny though,” I recall mindlessly to myself. “When we were in there a while ago, it managed to speak.” I ignored the Samoan’s eyes widening at the mention of speech capabilities, blurting “It said something like ‘leeaaa—‘ or something. That’s the first any of them have talked... Whatever, it probably means nothing,” I quickly waved off. Roman hummed softly, seemingly accepting my answer. I pull my hands away from his to fold my arms and close myself.

“How many are there?” He asks. “In total.”

“Their numbers grow the more I face any distressing or damaging situations. Last I could recall, there were at least... eight.”

Roman’s eyes widened. “Eight?!”

“At least,” I confirmed. “That happened with AJ. I’ve... gotten in a few other fucked up situations after he left.” Roman was silent once more.

“I... I don’t know what they are myself, Roman. i just know that... They come from me. And they’re reminders of the times in my life I’ve fucked up. Haunting reminders. Literally.” I sigh, resigned to the reality of what will probably become another...  _thing_  that will be born and reside in this In-N-Out Burger when Roman decides I’m not worth all my bullshit.

Roman remains unreadable.

“...Let me take you home, Dean.”

 

The drive home was the most I’d ever suffered in silence. Roman would glance in my direction every so often, like he was itching to say something. What were we supposed to talk about though? There was nothing more to discuss. I had told him my batshit crazy story of why my life is shit right now. He’d seen the...  _demon_  for himself. There was absolutely no way we were ever gonna see each other anymore after this. No normal guy wants to deal with my weird,  _American Horror Story_ -esque, _Orphan Black_ -type bullshit. I don’t blame him at all.

Doesn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. Roman was... just the sweetest guy. The time we shared these past twenty-four or so hours was the least I’d ever had to work to get a guy interested in me; I didn’t have to pretend to be someone “dateable,” didn’t have to clip my language and weirdness to bite sized pieces so they were easier for other people to digest. It almost made me cry, thinking about just how fucked up my situation with this... ‘illness’ was that it even got in the way of my dating life.

(Then again, it got in the way of Seth living in our own apartment with me, so I should’ve expected that. He could never see them, but he’s seen me panicking with the idea of the specters walking around our unit like it owned the place.)

Roman pulled up to the empty parking space near my apartment and that was when my breathing hitched and shortened. I did everything in my power to keep it together, but the choked up lump in the back of my throat and the accumulating tears threatening to spill were getting dangerously close to breaking me. As soon as I got off his car I looked down and almost ran to him, hugging him and burying my face in his chest one last time.

“Thank you Roman, and I’m sorry,” I croaked.

I let go of his treetrunk torso trying to run back inside my apartment before he could see me cry but he kept his arms around me, refusing to let go. I tugged slightly, wondering if he had any plans of letting me go anytime soon. He did, but instead of setting me free, he unfolded his arms, turned me around, and gently walked me inside my apartment. He walked past the door with me, closed it shut, and walked with me up the staircase.

There  _it_  stood, once more.

Its shoulders were hunched forward, head and face angled at the lowest possible—uncomfortable—position, staring at my door like it was supposed to open on its own. It seemed to hear us as we stopped at the top of the stairs, turning its head slowly to see us for itself. It slowly turned to face us, head tilting up to see us properly. I imagine it almost  _leered._

My breathing hitched, caught in my throat once more. My jaw twitched, hands and fingers beginning to shake uncontrollably. I was  _scared._  Facing these was always scary. Nobody ever really thinks about how crazy terrifying it would be to wake up and see yourself staring back at you. There are scientific theories that say if you ever really saw yourself in person, you would’t recognize yourself. Something about the brain only having a fraction of an idea of what you’re supposed to look like based on what reflection you’re used to seeing in a mirror.

But I think what made this moment terrifying was just the concept of knowing that this... this strange supernatural being that looks like me somehow came  _from within_  me. Nobody teaches you how to deal with this sort of situation. Everybody says “overcome yourself” but nobody ever really means that literally.

It let out a long, hissing breath through closed teeth. Roman’s hand moved up my back and he closed it where the back of my neck meets my shoulder, reassuringly squeezing and stroking his thumb on my back. I look up to see him staring intensely at my double, a strong, unwavering gaze. It slowly opened its mouth.

_“Leeaaa...”_

It stopped, almost like it ran out of breath. It inhaled once more through its mouth, and finished its sentence...

_“Leeeeave.”_

I gasped silently, looking up at Roman, whose grip on my shoulder only tightened, and his expression grew more fiery. It raised its arm slowly, and where I expected it to point at me, a finger instead pointed at...

...Roman?

Why?

“I’m not leaving,” Roman declared. “Not when Dean needs me,” His voice wavered slightly, traces of fear finally slipping through. I still have no idea what Roman was trying, but the demon lowered its arm and roared, a deep, animalistic sound that echoed through the hall and almost had us reeling. I yelled out in surprise and Roman flinched as the floorboards beneath us rumbled, but his stance remained firm.

“Roman, what are you do—!” I screamed frantically. I grabbed his arm in a panic, scrambling to maintain balance and composure. He responded in kind by pulling his arm away from my grasp in favor of wrapping it around my shoulders. He pulled me in close, protectively, as he marched forward and grabbed my double by the collar and roared back.

“I’m not leaving him! And you’re not welcome here! If you wanna wreak havoc here, you’re gonna have to deal with me!”

The creature wearing my face was reduced to panting. Roman retained his position, right arm still shielding me and holding me close, left fist balled up in the thing’s collar. His breath was heavy and almost labored, with his eyes fiery as his piercing glare drilled holes into my double’s white, empty pupils. I turned to watch the creature’s reaction.

It remained still. Then turned to me, looked me in the eye, and almost... nodded. In approval? Something like that. But the one thing I thought unfathomable happened: it closed its eyes, glowed a soft, white light, and faded.

Roman’s protective hold on my shoulders dropped as the weight he carried in his left fist suddenly disappeared. His body loosened, and upon realizing what had just happened, turned to face and hold me.

“Your... Your eyes, Dean,” he whispered.

“W-what?” I asked, fearful.

“Nothing. They just... they glowed for a second.” He whispers. He smiles a soft, relieved smile, one that I immediately return.

We stood in silence for a moment, letting the freedom from the prior tension now lifted, slowly sink in. I began to laugh breathlessly.  _It’s gone,_  I thought.  _I can’t believe it’s actually gone._

_That’s... the first time._

“It’s... it’s gone. Roman, it’s disappeared,” I laughed, tears forming in my eyes once more, and this time no longer caring that they fell. I laughed. “It’s... I-I can’t believe it’s really gone, I— This time it’s really gone,” I laughed, peals of laughter giving way to wailing, full-on bawling from the great overwhelming relief of release from what felt like some great emotional scourge.

Roman pulled me in gently and buried my face in his chest, as I continue to let the tears fall freely for the first time. He gently wraps his arms around me, cradling me like a fragile child as he gently sits legs folded in my hallway, laying me in his lap and pressing soft kisses onto the crown of my head and murmuring soft “shh”’s, “it’s gone, now, Dean, you’re alright”’s, and “i’ll take care of you, I promise”’s into my temple. I return his embrace and continue to cry, fully appreciating the care and gentleness he puts into consoling me before I soon lose myself to my first deep, dreamless, but very much needed restful sleep in over half a year.

_Thank you Roman. For not leaving._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this was... a lot easier to write than the first chapter. i think this time i had a clearer idea of how i wanted this one to pan out? it still took me 3 seperate days to write it, tho.
> 
> thank you for your responses! all of you who did on the previous chapter. i didn't expect it all te be as well received as it did <3 hopefully this 2nd chapter doesn't let anybody down.
> 
> i had 'we all want love' by rihanna and 'blue (feat. alex hope)' by troye sivan playing on repeat while writing this chapter. i think the first one had me listening to 'i don't wanna live forever' by zayn and taylor swift and 'into you' by ariana grande. maybe i could end all my chapter notes like this. hmm...


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